


to bed or to sleep

by fardareismai



Series: Imagine Claire and Jamie (Prompts from the blog that I have fulfilled) [8]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Light Smut, outlander canon divergence, romantic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai/pseuds/fardareismai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To bed or to sleep" this one always got me what if they had just gone "to sleep"? Let's be realistic though spooning always leads to forking, especially when alcohol is ivolved. Can anyone else picture this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“ **To bed or to sleep?** ”  He cocked a quizzical eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched.  


I opened my mouth, unsure what my answer would be.  Suddenly, before I could think of the correct response, my mouth widened into a jaw-cracking yawn, completely without my intent.

Jamie’s soft mouth widened into a true smile, and his blue eyes held an odd soft warmth as he looked at me.

“ **You need sleep, lass,** ” he said, gently.  “ **I’ll help you with your laces, then I can sleep on the floor.** ”  


I looked at the floor in question, which, in deference to our newlywed status, had been swept out that same day, and thus was cleaner than most inns at which we had stayed in recent weeks, but was still cold and hard, particularly in comparison to the bed which was piled high with quilts and furs.

I looked up into the face of the sweet, gallant lad who had given up his future and, potentially, his happiness for my safety and couldn’t do it.  Even if he hadn’t been himself, making the man sleep on the floor would have been cruel, and I did not consider myself a cruel woman.

“ **No…** ” I said slowly, and then more firmly, “ **no.  You shouldn’t sleep on the floor, not when there’s a bed to hand.  It’s not like the other night,** ” I continued, thinking of the night where he had lain across my doorstep, guardian of my dubious virtue.  “ **I’m… your wife… now.** ”  


The phrase “your wife” seemed to stick in my throat, raising a deep sense of panic in my chest.  I added the final “now” to help cool it.  I  _was_ his wife, at least until I could return to Frank, and I owed him what comfort I could offer, both for his past sacrifice in marrying me, and for the future pain that my abandonment of him might bring.

“ **Aye,** ” he said, and his voice was deep and rich on the word, coursing through my veins like a slug of good Scottish whiskey.  “ **You _are_ my wife… now.**”  


I could not read his meaning.  His eyes were soft as they looked at me, but his face gave nothing else away.

For a long moment we stared at each other, the charge of that word-  _wife_ \- between us, seeming to grow with every moment, sucking the air from the room until I thought something must be said else I would suffocate.  


“ **I did say as I’d help with your laces,** ” Jamie said, finally, breaking the tension with a near-audible shatter.  “ **Stand up and I’ll do my best.** ”  


I shuddered with relief, and stood quickly to go to him.  He fumbled with my laces (proof, had I needed it, of his inexperience with women’s garments) until, with a final pop, the last of the hooks came loose and the tight bodice and full skirt of the gown could slide down in a billow of fabric.

Standing with my back to Jamie in my thin chemise, I could feel his eyes on me, hot and avid as a caress, though he did not touch me.

I stepped away from the gown, then bent to pick it up.  I did not look at Jamie as I shook the garment out, then smoothed the cream silk over my arm.

“ **It’s a lovely dress,** ” I said inanely, “ **it would be a shame for it to get creased.** ”  


“ **Aye** ,” he said, and his voice was hoarse.  “ **Aye, verra beautiful.** ”  


I had a distinct impression that he was not talking about the dress.

It was cowardly, but I did not look at him as I carefully (far more carefully than necessary) hung the gown on one of the pegs near the door, brushing the skirts down with exaggerated attention, then turned toward the bed.  I could feel Jamie’s eyes on me the entire time.

Once I’d crawled beneath the quilts and settled onto my side with my back to my new husband, I heard him sigh and the rustle of cloth as he began to shed his kilt and plaid.  I could hear the movements as I lay still, preternaturally aware of him, every sense tuned in his direction.  I could hear him extending the same care toward his kilt fabric that I had given to my gown, folding it carefully and neatly setting it on the stool.  He stood still for a long moment and then, sighing again, he crossed the room to the bed like a man approaching the den of a dangerous animal.

Jamie carefully insinuated himself beneath the quilts beside me, making a clear effort to touch me as little as possible (shockingly difficult given the diminutive size of the bed we were expected to share).  Finally he was still, laid out on his back, his hands on his stomach, straight and stiff as a tomb figure.

We lay like that for what seemed an age, not touching, not moving, barely breathing, the tension stretched between us like a guitar string, tight enough to snap.

Finally, after a long time of this, I gave up.  I  _was_ tired and wanted to sleep, and I knew that I could never do so next to a man laying as still as a corpse.  

I turned over and propped myself up, startling Jamie, whose eyes opened wide.  I said nothing, just took the arm closest to me, wrapped it around my shoulder so that I could nestle into his side, and settled my head on his shoulder, an arm across his abdomen.

Jamie remained stiff, though this time I thought it was with shock rather than uncertainty.  I pushed myself up on my elbow again and looked down into his face for a moment, then leaned down and kissed him gently, slowly, feeling the tension ebb out of him as his warm, wide mouth began to tenderly move against mine.

After a long moment, I pulled slowly away and looked at him again.  His blue eyes blinked open, long lashes fluttering, and I smiled.

“ **Goodnight, Jamie,** ” I said, settling back down with my head on his shoulder.  


The arm that I’d wrapped around me squeezed me gently, and he brushed a kiss into my curly hair.

“ **Goodnight, Sassenach.** ”


	2. Chapter 2

I woke in the still, small hours of the night, still wrapped in Jamie’s arms.

Sometime in the shifting and settling of the night, my shift had been rucked up around my waist, and Jamie’s hand was rested on my bare hip.  His shirt was pulled up some as well, and where my bottom was nestled in the cup of his thighs, we were skin-to-skin.

I could not tell whether he was awake without shifting against him or speaking, and I was still too muzzily sleepy to want to wake so fully.  There was one part of his anatomy, however, which seemed to be fully roused, in spite of the hour.

I pushed back against Jamie with my bottom, more to settle myself more firmly into his warmth than an incitement to lust, but I felt his hand tighten on my hip slightly as I did so.

So he  _was_  awake then.

My inhibitions from earlier in the night were subdued in the fuzziness of dreams, the joy of sleeping comfortably for the first time in weeks, and a sense of peace engendered by Jamie’s gallantry.  My nerves had vanished as I slept, and I found that I wanted him very much.

I turned to him, slow and dreamlike, as though we were under water.  His eyes were like water too.  Without light, they were black as a pool in a cave, but shining and watching me as I moved.

I turned my face up to him as we lay on our sides, facing one another, and just as slowly as I had moved, he lowered his head and kissed me.

His kiss lit a fire in me, but it was a slow, glowing burn.  He seemed to take his cues from me, and he did not rush or race, but allowed the flame of desire to stoke and grow naturally, his hands roaming over my skin, listening as I gasped and moaned.

His hands found their way under my shift to one breast, his large hand engulfing it in warmth and strength.  My nipple came up hard against his palm, and he made a small noise in his throat in pleasure and surprise, but still he moved slowly.

He kissed me thoroughly, and stroked every inch of my skin that he could reach save one.  He was nervous about only one place, his fingers coming close, but never quite touching until, finally, I took his hand and guided his fingers in to the warm wetness there at the centre of me.  His breathing picked up, and he stopped kissing me, finding the sensations too novel to divide his attention, but still he went slow, listening to my breathing, never rushing ahead.

“ **Clever lad** ,” I thought as his fingers found a spot that made me arch my back in sudden pleasure.  


Finally I could bear it no longer, and I thought he could not either.  I lifted my hands to his neck, into the soft red curls there and pulled his face back to mine, pulling him atop me as I did.

I shifted under him as he came down atop me and then he was there, poised at the entrance, a breath away from joining.

He lifted his head and his eyes found mine, fathomless in the darkness.

“ **Claire** ,” he whispered, and it was question, plea, and prayer in one breath, and I answered him in kind.  


“ **Jamie**.”  


I arched against him and he slid inside.  He drew a sharp breath through his nose in shock.  He held still for a moment, as though unsure what to do, but an instinct older than the name of the gods and saints he invoked took him, and he began to rock against me, still as slow and gentle as ever.

The glow of desire had been built, slow and careful, to a blaze, and I wrapped my legs around him as he found his rhythm with me, but even the shock of desire could not stop the dreamlike quality of the night, and when he stiffened above me, face strained and mouth open, I responded in kind, pressed against him, surprised at my response- so much as I was capable of being surprised by anything in the womb-like dream in which we had moved.

Jamie moved off of me in a moment, and pulled me against him.  He sighed deeply and buried his face in my hair and, with a deep breath he finally relaxed and fell asleep.


End file.
